Stolen Away_A Time Travel Romance Read online

  “She did.” Nodding, Rebecca snickered. “She warned The Order of the creation of The Pit, assisted in the battle with the Black Knights that took place there, and designed the plans to have the area secured once the confrontation was over.”

  “Battle?” I couldn’t imagine Samantha in any type of physical skirmish.

  Catching on to my train of thought, Rebecca interjected with her own opinions. “I think, if you were aware of all the things your acquaintance did after she slipped through time, you’d be amazed.” Her face fell, the darker emotions she’d concealed earlier bubbling to the surface.

  “Ever since Samantha and Tristan, my family has held themselves to the high honor of being their offspring. We were taught to push ourselves harder, train more, know better, to rise above everyone else. The O’Rourke’s’ have been a pillar of The Order for hundreds of years, following their example. We were leaders, warriors . . . the best Templar Knights the world has ever seen. And then there’s me. The secretary who is about to be court marshalled for refusing to follow one simple order.”

  She chuckled humorlessly, and leaned back, glancing at the ceiling. “I’m the failure of the family. If only my father could see me now.”

  Lips turning down, I didn’t answer, not sure what to say. Her arrival here suddenly made more sense to me. She was in trouble—a lot, from the sound of it—and she wanted to plead her case to me. Somehow, we’d ended up talking about the one thing she probably didn’t need to hear about immediately—how great her grandmother was.

  “You know,” I said slowly, attempting to discover a way to comfort her. “Everyone back home believes Sam is the idiot girl who trespassed and got herself killed while searching for a non-existent treasure.”

  Confused, she met my gaze. “What’s your point?”

  “They aren’t aware of the wonderful things she ended up doing. No one knows the remarkable path you’re going to follow, either.”

  The words caught us both by surprise, shocking Rebecca into silence as we simply stared at each other, her jaw hanging open.

  Quietly, I added, “And I know for a fact, Sam wouldn’t consider you a failure.”

  Her mouth snapped shut and she blinked, as if she hadn’t quite understood what I’d said. After a beat, she stood, straightening the jacket of her suit. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Really.”

  “Any time.”

  Swallowing hard, she scanned the door, obviously ready to go. I, however, had one more thing I wanted to ask her.

  “How about a deal?” Stepping in front of her, I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans, grinning. “I’m stuck here with you guys for the foreseeable future?”

  Raising an eyebrow, she nodded.

  “Awesome. So, what if in exchange for telling me more about Samantha and Mark and what happened to them, I tell you more about Sam when I knew her? We could get together every day and swap stories.”

  Grimacing, she didn’t reply, her torn countenance making me snicker.

  “It’s not like I have anything else to do.” Smiling, I waited for her to answer.

  Eventually, she appeared to come around to the idea. Finally, after a minute or so, she grinned, nodding. “Fine. I don’t think there would be anything wrong with doing that.”

  She rose, pushing past me, and reached for the knobs on the double doors.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, a bit more hopeful than intended.

  Glancing at me, her lips curved up once again. “It’s a date.”

  Rebecca sent word the next morning to meet her at a place called “The Armory.” There were also directions, which included using the hidden passage in my apartment and at least three others. Once I finally managed to find where I was supposed to be, I was almost thirty minutes late for our rendezvous.

  The Armory was a soundproofed training area. There was a shooting range, boxing arena, mannequins to workout against, weights and other exercise equipment, and an open section I assumed could be used for whatever anyone wanted. Lockers lined the walls, some of them clearly personal and others housing weapons and towels.

  Rebecca was at the gun range, a pistol in her hands, glasses on her face, and headphones over her ears. She wore plain black pants and a matching tank top, her hair twisted into another messy bun. While I watched, she unloaded the clip into the target across the space, not even seeming to blink as she hit the paper dead center repeatedly.

  “Nice.” Walking to her, I smiled, putting my hands in my pockets. “You’re a good shot.”

  “Thank you,” she answered politely. “You’re late.”

  Flushing slightly, I rubbed my neck. “I got a little lost. To be fair, this isn’t the easiest place to find, and your directions were confusing, with the secret tunnels and whatnot.”

  She chuckled, flipping a switch and bringing the target zooming toward us. “Fair enough. Either way, you found me. I suppose that’ll have to be good enough.”

  The bullseye stopped right in front of us, revealing a large hole in the center. She hadn’t missed a single shot.

  “Wow!” I was thoroughly impressed. “How did you do that?”

  “Lots and lots of practice.” She chuckled, taking the torn sheet off its hook and posting a clean one. “Wanna try?”

  Taken aback, I snickered nervously, slamming my mouth shut in horror as soon as the sound had left me. She bit her bottom lip, obviously attempting to keep from laughing.

  “I’m not so great at guns,” I admitted sheepishly. “I’m the worst shot in my family.” That was a bit of an understatement. I’d only handled a firearm twice in my life. The first time was a horrible mistake and the second only occurred because I thought my previous attempt had been marred by bad luck. My forehead was lucky it had escaped with only a minor cut and some epic bruising, instead of the ambulance ride and rows of stitches I originally thought it was going to need.

  Rebecca all but rolled her eyes. “So am I.”

  “Ha ha.” Raising an eyebrow, I gave her a stare of condemnation for making fun of me.

  “No, truly,” she said seriously. “I am.”

  My jaw practically fell on the ground, I was so shocked. She snickered again, loading the bullets resting on the counter into the clip and offering me the weapon. “I won’t tease you, I promise.” Flipping the switch, she sent the target flying to the other end of the range, offering the weapon to me.

  Reluctantly, I took it, testing the weight in my grasp. “Kevin was the gun guy in my family.” Nervously, I pointed the end toward the bullseye, squinting with one eye, and lowered the piece with a sigh.

  “That’s your twin brother, right? The one attending New York University.”

  I nodded, choosing to ignore yet another sign I’d been watched. “Yeah. He enjoyed hunting. He’d go on trips all the time, during the cold months, after we graduated. He’s quite the shot.” Lifting the firearm, I frowned. At least there wasn’t a scope for me to slam into my face on this one. “I just wasn’t ever really into it.”

  “That must have been hard,” she said with a sort of interrogative tone. “You guys did everything together.”

  “We did,” I confirmed. “It’s been an odd week without him. I’m not exactly sure what to do with myself. I wouldn’t want him stuck here with me, though.” The statement sounded wrong as I said it and my face reddened. “Not that I’m ungrateful for you saving me and stuff,” I hurried to say. “I’m only glad he wasn’t at risk to begin with.”

  “As far as we‘re aware.”

  The cryptic response made me pause. “Do you think he could be in trouble later?” The idea made my heart beat faster. If there was enough evidence I was in danger, wouldn’t that mean Kevin was, too? He hadn’t talked to me since he’d left, which I’d assumed was because he was busy moving in and getting comfortable. What if he had been taken by someone?

  She smiled, shaking her head. “He’s far enough away and exhibiting enough behavior to show that he doesn’t know anything. He should
be perfectly fine. The Black Knights won’t bother him unless they’re certain he has information. They have undeniable proof you know more than you should. That’s why you’re the one they think of as a threat.”

  “What proof?” I aimed the pistol at the target, inhaling deeply.

  “You received the package. You were at Scott’s house. You saw the evidence. And you stayed behind, when your brother didn’t.”

  I pulled the trigger. The shot was loud, echoing off the walls, making me wish I’d put on some safety headphones. I missed the target by a long shot, groaning internally as I shook my head and laid the weapon on the counter.

  “Like I said. I’m a pretty bad shot.” Chuckling uncomfortably, I faced the rest of the Armory, attempting to focus on what was happening right then. It was difficult when everything that had changed over the past few days was glaringly obvious. I didn’t want to admit this new information scared me. I was out of my element, and didn’t think I could trust the organization that “rescued” me. Making pizza was my normal, not shooting guns in a hidden weapons cache.

  Rebecca, seeming to sense my minor distress, misinterpreted what was bothering me and picked the pistol up. “Here,” she said, placing it in my palm. “Relax your grip and hold your arm straight.” She positioned me, with one hand on my hip and the other covering my fingers on the gun. “It’s important to breathe,” she said quietly. “Don’t let it make you feel out of control. You’re the boss. This revolver can’t do anything you don’t tell it to, understand?”

  I nodded, struggling to put the thoughts of my life in the past. She coached me through a few inhalations, resting her hand on my shoulder instead of my waist, urging me to unwind.

  “Now, when you’re ready, aim and pull the trigger. There’s no rush, no need to panic. You’re in control.”

  Closing my eyes for a moment, I sighed, letting her calming tone soothe me. Then, I stared at the bullseye, aimed, and fired the gun.

  “That’s good!” She grinned widely, flipping the switch to bring the target paper to us. When it stopped, I was surprised to see a bullet hole not far off from the center. I’d aimed high and to the left, but I’d managed to hit it.

  “All you needed to do was calm down and take your time,” she stated confidently. “I knew you could do it.”

  I was suddenly very aware of how close she was. Her breath tickled my skin, and I could see the tiny gold flecks in her green eyes. She smelled like lilacs and honey, the scent causing my chest to constrict slightly. The feeling of it shocked me out of my silent stare and I glanced away, running my fingers through my hair.

  “Sam liked pizza,” I told her, feeling like a change in conversation was in order.

  “She did?” The new direction seemed to be funny to her, but she went along without issue, tilting her head to the side as she listened.

  “Yup. Pepperoni was her favorite. She’d have a slice at our weekly meeting. We all had a slice. That was kind of our thing, Kevin’s and mine. We’d make pizza for the crew to eat while we planned stuff.”

  Grateful to have something plain, boring, and well-known to talk about, I went on and on, talking about pizza, how it was made, and what everyone else’s favorite kinds were. Rebecca listened to it all intently, grinning. When I finally stopped to breathe, she butted in with a question.

  “When did you meet her?”

  Relief filled me and I shook myself mentally before replying. What was I doing, acting like an idiot? She didn’t want to know the entire history of pizza. Rebecca O’Rourke was clearly one of the smartest people I’d ever met. If I was lucky, she believed I was only mostly stupid.

  “At our weekly meeting,” I answered sheepishly. “I was getting to that. Eventually.”

  She giggled, waving her hand in dismissal. “Tell me about it.”

  Nodding, I did as she asked, going into as much detail as she wanted. After a while, she motioned for me to follow her to the lockers, continuing to ask questions about Sam and listening intently to my responses. There were a few things, I couldn’t answer, my knowledge of Sam not a complete one. But, it appeared I was doing a good enough job to keep her pleased.

  As I spoke, she unloaded the gun, placing the ammo in its box and hanging the firearm on the hook inside the locker. As soon as she finished, she turned to me, curiosity covering her features. “Would you say Samantha was the type of woman to fight for what she wanted?”

  “Of course,” I replied instantly. “She was very sure of herself. She knew what she wanted and went after it.”

  “Do you think she was happy in a century that took part of her personality from her?” She stared at me, leaning against the lockers and folding her arms.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  “Well, she traveled to an era that didn’t really let women do anything. She would’ve been considered her husband’s property. Women were expected to have children and take care of the home and that was it. I would assume, based off what you have told me about her, she would have been miserable in a world like that.”

  Grimacing, I considered what she was saying. “No,” I replied. “From what you’ve told me of her husband, I don’t think so. I think he sounds like the type of guy who would’ve given her the freedom she wanted, because he loved her.”

  For some reason, this answer seemed to please her most. Breaking into a wide smile, she straightened, heading toward the exit. “That’s what I think, based off what I’ve read. There is plenty we don’t know about the two, but I don’t think their happiness was ever a question.” Peering over her shoulder, she motioned for me to follow.

  “You’ve answered my inquiries for the day. It’s your turn. What would you like to know about Samantha and Tristan O’Rourke?”

  Breathing fresh air was a freedom I never could have imagined. After spending a week in a mansion that somehow managed to feel cramped and tiny, going outside was like sprouting wings and flying. The only bad thing about it was knowing that I would have to return to the overstuffed walls of The Mansion on O Street before I was ready.

  Pushing that thought aside, I grinned at Rebecca, watching as she strolled along the paved path through the park. She wasn’t so business-y today, wearing jeans and a red shirt, with a long, black jacket draped around her. Her hair, which I’d come to realize was always somewhat wild and curly, hung down her back, the ends tickling just above her hips. More and more, lately, as I’d spent time with her, I was struck by how beautiful she was.

  It wasn’t lost on me, the looks the other men gave her as she passed by, or how staggeringly delicious her perfume smelled. I’d known from the moment I first saw her that she was the kind of woman men would go to war for. Above that, though, was her personality. Rebecca was intelligent and kind, her life motivated by compassion and duty. The more I learned about her, the more I realized that I would go to war for her, if needed.

  My face reddened at the thought and I glanced away. I could only imagine what Kevin would say, if he knew I had developed a crush for the woman.

  Stockholm Syndrome much, Er?

  Of course, I would then have to argue the point that she hadn’t kidnapped me, but saved me from being taken hostage. And then I would have dared him to deny that he wouldn’t have fallen for her, too, if our situations had been swapped.

  “Scott said to tell you he was sorry he couldn’t join us today.” Rebecca’s voice, cool and calm, broke through my thoughts, bringing my attention to her beautiful face as she stopped and stared at me. “Have you talked with him? Is he feeling okay? He seems very distant whenever I visit him.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, quickly. “He’s had a stomach bug. Traveling is hard on him and he’s done so much of it over the past month. You know, Arizona, here, back home, and here again. I think it’s been too much excitement for him.”

  Resisting the urge to clear my throat or give any sign that I was lying, I stared evenly at her, hating that I had to keep the truth hidden. It was only a white lie, to keep
people from poking around. Scott was feeling under the weather from traveling, but not so much that he needed to remain sequestered in his room like he had been.

  The truth was that Scott was still doing his research. Somewhere, Pandora’s Box was waiting to be found. We had to get it before The Order or The Black Knights did, to make sure it was protected and couldn’t be used by either side for malicious intent. It hadn’t been easy, searching for it while under what was basically house arrest, but he was doing what he could. For all he knew, The Order was already aware of what he was doing, but no one had stopped him, yet. As far as the both of us were concerned, we were in the clear.

  Frowning, Rebecca stared as if she didn’t believe me, and then turned away, resuming our walk. “Is there anything I can bring him, to make him more comfortable? I can have the doctor come.”

  “I think he’ll be fine, he just needs to rest.” Had she heard the strain in my voice? Shoving my hands in my pockets, I walked beside her, hoping that she was buying what I was poorly trying to sell.

  Glancing around, I stared at the changing leaves on the tree-lined path, watching as families played on grassy fields and lovers sat together on benches, holding hands and whispering to each other. The pairs brought a question to my mind and I cleared my throat, focusing on the woman beside me.

  “So, Tristan,” I started. “You haven’t told me much about him, other than he was influential and in love with Sam.”

  Laughing slightly, she nodded, peering at me. “That’s true. What do you want to know?”

  “Uh, everything?” I laughed, moving closer as I lowered my voice, not wanting anyone to overhear us talking. “Why did he join The Order? What did he do that was so influential? What was his life like? I know I don’t have any say in the matter, but I would like to decide for myself if my friend made an appropriate choice in husband, not that I can do anything about it now if she didn’t.”

  That wasn’t my only reason in asking, though. I liked the way Rebecca’s face lit up when she talked about her family and their history. She loved sharing her past and I was more than willing to listen. I had already told her everything I knew about Samantha. The only stories I had left to tell were about Michael, and Rebecca seemed to already know a lot about him.